


Not Their Fault, Not Yours

by RelicIron



Series: Scrapper [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mention of other smuggler crew members, Pre-Relationship, Scars, Sometimes stripping down to your underwear IS the answer, Twi'leks (Star Wars), mention of past injuries, nearly naked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23695300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelicIron/pseuds/RelicIron
Summary: Arcann takes it personally when he fails to protect Caz'tarkona on the battlefield. On the way back to Odessan, Caz thinks of a creative way to show him that 'shit happens, no hard feelings' and Arcann calls him on it.
Relationships: Arcann/Male Smuggler
Series: Scrapper [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706383
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Not Their Fault, Not Yours

The flight back is eerily quiet.

Caz is still gingerly feeling around his bandaged thigh where a blaster bolt had gouged a path through the muscle. More than a graze, less than a through-and-through, it hurt like hell regardless, and had knocked him on his ass when the leg gave out.

Not the best position to be in on the battlefield.

Arcann had been there in seconds, deflecting shots in a flurry of glowing yellow. The moment there was a break in the onslaught, he whipped around, flung Caz over his shoulder like a sack flotatoes, and bolted for safety.

They got back alright. Arcann quietly put him down, and helped him to the medical tent, before heading back out into the fray.

Some kolto, and bandages later, and he was good enough to walk on his own. Bit of a limp, but he’d had worse.

Now they were on their way back in his freighter, Bowdaar having not so politely dragged him out of the pilot’s seat and dumped him in the sitting area of the holo deck.

Arcann was there too, sitting at the other end of the couch, still wearing his singed armor; elbows on his knees, head hanging down to stare at his feet. He looked frustrated (from what Caz could tell, the man could be as expressive as a permacrete wall sometimes), and the strained silence was really starting to wear on Caz’s nerves.

“Uh... you alright there, Arcann?”

He flinched at his name and blinked up at Caz as if he’d only just noticed he was there.

“… yes, Commander,” he murmured.

Awkward silence fell, mixing with the strained quiet of before to make Caz squirm in his seat. Arcann’s gaze had returned to the floor, so he took a minute to look the man over.

Small burns were scattered over his arms, and there were a few holes scorched into the looser parts of his pants and tassets. He probably should go to the med bay when they got back, since it was obvious he hadn’t had them treated yet.

Caz was about to ask _**why**_ he hadn’t had them treated yet, when Arcann rose from his seat. He turned, walked the two steps it took to stand in front of Caz, and sank down to kneel at his feet, head down, back bowed, a perfect picture of submission.

“What are you d-”

“Commander, you have my sincerest apologies. I accept full responsibility for my negligence. I will agree to any disciplinary actions you see fit to-”

“WOAH! Hold on, back up there!” Caz closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, and took a deep fortifying breath, “Ok, what exactly do you think you did wrong.”

Arcann raised his head, “I... failed to protect you. You were injured as a result.”

Caz frowned and opened his eyes, “Arcann, I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself. It wasn’t your fault I got shot, it was _**the guy who shot me**_!”

He shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw, “If I had been faster, you would not have been injured. There is little I can do for you or the Alliance, I should at least be capable of protecting you.” He grit his teeth and looked away,” And yet I continue to disappoint you.”

Caz sighed, he was too tired for this shit. “You know what, come with me.”

Arcann stood and shuffled back, flinching slightly as Caz rose and grabbed his wrist. He led him away, hobbling over the gangplank to the cockpit and taking the first right in the curved hallway beyond.

Caz glanced over his rumpled bedding and the piles of scrap littering his shelves and spilling over bins. What may have once been an Imperial breast plate lay in pieces on his work table.

He grunted in irritation. Well if he had any shame left he wouldn’t be about to do this.

He dropped Arcann’s wrist and closed the door. He didn’t want to have to explain this little demonstration to Bowdaar if he walked passed. Arcann seemed to be torn between curiosity and nervousness as he peered around, and for a moment Caz wondered what his room told the man.

“Alright, then.”

His gaze immediately fixed itself back on Caz before going wide with shock.

Caz had already taken his jacket and gun belt off when they’d first gotten back to the ship, now he quickly tugged his shirt up and over his lekku to discard on the bed. The boots came next, clips giving way in well practiced motions until first one than the other clunked onto the deck. He kept his eyes on his clothes as he efficiently stripped, only slowing slightly as he tugged his pant leg down over his bandaged thigh.

Once he was down to his black boxers he straightened up, put his hands on his hips, and stared Arcann down.

And to Arcann’s credit, he was returning that stare, very determinedly keeping his eyes on Caz’s face and ignoring the blush coloring his own cheeks. He was gripping one arm tightly, while the other was raised to hide his mouth behind his fist.

Best get this over with before the poor bastard spontaneously combusted.

“Ok, let’s start with this one,” Caz leaned down to point at a gnarl of scar tissue just above his knee. “Got it on good ol’ Corellia. I needed to sneak into an Imp med center, and the brilliant plan my inside man had was to get me in as a patient. By shooting me. In the leg. My buddy Corso was right there with me, but that asshole shot me before he could do anything about it. Wasn’t his fault, and the asshole fixed me up as soon as we got inside.”

He bent further and pointed out a patch of lighter skin that looked like melted plastoid. “This one was on Quesh. Me ‘n Akaavi were running from a squad of Imps. They came around the corner right before we got to cover and we had to dive for it. I was a liiiittle too slow and the bastards got me. Add Quesh’s charming poison atmosphere to a 3rd degree burn and I was puking my guts out for days after she hauled my sorry ass to a med center. Wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t been there. None of that was her fault, and she made sure the Imps paid for it.”

Caz sneaked a glance at Arcann as he straightened back up. He was just as still as before and the blush was still sitting high on his cheekbones, but he looked thoughtful now, instead of confused. He decided that was progress.

He spread his fingers over his left side, where there was a wedge of silvery pink fading into the green of his normal skin. “This was from a fight with a Sith. Bowdaar was keeping her busy while I was supposed to get around behind and clock ‘er. Unfortunately, she either caught on, or “sensed” me coming. Would’ve cut me in half if I hadn’t bailed to the side. Hurt like hell, but I made the shot and dropped her, so I still call it a win. Bowdaar was doing exactly what I needed him to do, wasn’t his fault she got me.”

He snorted and rotated his right arm, hearing the familiar sound of the servos whirring with the movement. “And this was from working in the shipyards on Corellia, before I became the ace pilot we all know and love. ‘Was trying to secure the engines to a light corvette with a handful of other guys. The chain holding it up broke and dropped it on us. Ben-El, Torga, and I got crushed. I made it out, minus a limb, but it was better than dying. Found out later that corporate had been shirking on replacing the suspension chains on the cranes at the dock, whole place was a death trap waiting to happen, we just drew the short straw. Wasn’t Ralim’s fault his crane was gonna give out, it was the inspection guy and the big wigs at the top.”

He stopped and looked back at Arcann, “You seein’ the pattern here, or should I keep going?”

He lowered his hand from his face and crossed his arms, eyes still flicking from scar to scar on Caz’s exposed skin.

“The point is that shit happens and I’m kind of a magnet for injuries,” Caz smirked, trying to get a smile out of Arcann, and sighing when all he did was look at him.

“How about this, then. Did you know beforehand that I was going to get hit?”

Arcann frowned, “No.”

“Did you come help me as soon as you noticed I was hurt?”

His frown deepened, “Of course I-”

“Then that’s all I need to know.” Caz moved closer and gripped his shoulders, giving him a little shake.

“It’s not automatically your fault if I get hurt. So long as you help me when you know I’m in trouble, then I have no complaints. There’s always gonna be someone who gets a lucky shot at me, I’m not invincible and you’re not all-knowing. Besides,” he said, flashing a jagged-toothed grin, “you probably saved my hide earlier. I wouldn’t have been able to get out of there on my own, so I’d say you’re doing fine as my self-appointed body guard.”

Arcann looked at him for a long moment before finally giving a nod. He still looked troubled, but Caz didn’t know what else to say to him. He let go and turned back towards his bed, looking to retrieve his shirt. He hadn’t even taken a step before a hand closed hesitantly around his arm. Confused, Caz looked back, but Arcann’s gaze was focused down. He reached out and Caz watched his cybernetic hand as it slid forward to graze cold fingers across his belly. Specifically, they traced the subtle border where green skin met another slightly lighter shade. It outlined a broad swath just above and to the side of his belly button, nearly the size of a dinner plate.

Caz swallowed, he’d avoided bringing up that scar for a reason. The skin graft had taken well, and it was barely noticeable now, but it concealed the catastrophic damage underneath. It had taken several whole and partial organ transplants to bring him back from the brink, and then weeks of surgeries to knit the underlying muscle and bone together. The graft had been the last step in erasing the spot where Arcann had run him through.

The memory of blinding pain was almost ludicrously at odds with the cool, almost tender touch.

All caused by the same man.

“Is that one _ **also** _not my fault?”

He looked up at Arcann’s soft-spoken question and saw the shame etched onto his face. Still, it didn’t stop the faint challenge in his voice.

Caz sighed.

“It _**is**_ your fault.”

He let his hand drop and looked away, the shame even deeper than before.

“But so far, you’ve earned my forgiveness.”

The frown returned as Arcann’s head snapped back to him. “But… _how_? Why would you forgive me after I _**stabbed you**_!”

Caz shrugged. “Every day you earn it a little more. Every time you help out with the tactics meetings, teach sword fighting in the Enclave, or save our guys on the battlefield, you prove that you’ve really changed and that you’re committed to staying this way.”

He scratched nervously at the base of a lekku, “I don’t really know when you went from ‘earning’ my forgiveness to ‘earned’ but at some point you did.”

A soft expression crossed Arcann’s face before it hardened with determination. He bent slightly, placing a hand over his heart.

“I will do everything in my power to continue earning your approval, and- and I will think about what you’ve said.”

Caz smiled, “There we go. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing, and you’ll be fine.”

For once, Arcann returned his smile, and Caz couldn’t help but think it looked good on him. The smile shifted into a hesitant smirk and Caz was suddenly aware of two things.

One: That little, playful smirk made his breath catch in a way that he definitely needed to examine later.

And two: He was still standing there in his boxers.

“Maybe I should go, so you can get dressed,” he offered, stoic as ever, but Caz could see the laughter in his eyes.

“Haha, yeah, uh, that’d… probably be a good idea.”

Smooth.

Arcann bowed slightly and stepped out. Caz breathed a sigh of relief before he remembered something. Hurrying to the door and he called out, “Remember to go to the med bay when we get back to Odessen!”

Arcann looked back briefly, smile still on his face, and nodded, before disappearing back into the common area.

**Author's Note:**

> Dude probably has some serious issues with 'failure', so being around people that won't shun him for every little mistake is gonna be strange for him. Caz just decided to be REALLY direct about it.  
> And if that means I get an excuse to write flustered Arcann, then hey, two birds one stone.


End file.
